Tiene
by Carnivore.Animal.I.Am.Cannibal
Summary: My own little love story for Sandor Clegane. I'm not much at summaries, so just check it out. Sandor/OC. M for later scenes & language. IAlso note I've taken some creative license where the Hound's back story is concerned, but not overly much. Hope you enjoy.


They spied the camp from fifty yards. Several minstrels plucked at lute strings and beat drums, some girls danced in the fire light with their coin belts jingling in tune to the sway of their hips, some even had tambourines. At least a dozen men scattered about the campsite, all of them armed, some with women hanging from them. All in all there were too many people about for Sandor Clegane to make any attempt at thievery, necessary or no. A fact that little Arya Stark was having trouble coming to terms with.

"I don't see why you can't just do it. You_ are_ the Hound, are you not? Feared by every man in Westeros & the Seven Kingdoms? The reason I want to murder you is your reckless abandon with slaughter, isn't it?" she sniped, eying the camp with a calculating look in her dark eyes.

Sandor growled low in his throat, irritated by the jibes she flung at him.

"Every man, but apparently not every thick headed little girl," he snarled. He grabbed her by the scruff of the neck & pulled her away from the rocks they had been behind and set her down only when they were back where Stranger waited, tethered to a tree limb. His dark eyes bore into her as he readied to flay her. "You've killed one man, girl. This makes you neither warrior nor threat. There are at least eighteen men in that campsite & they're all armed and as this is a gypsy camp, I'd wager your maidenhead those women are, too. Even I can't fight myself & you out of that."

"But you got Sansa away from the riots at Kings Landing & there are less men here then there." Arya continued defiantly.

The look he settled upon her quailed her for a moment. She knew that if he did not wish to remain unnoticed, he may have struck her.

"Aye. But these ones know what they're doing with their weaponry, especially the girls," He ground out through clenched teeth. "Best we can hope is that they would be kind to an old beggar & his hard headed spawn," the last words dripped with scorn, and he took a long pull from the leather pouch at his side.

"Behave yourself, Stark." he warned with malicious promise.

Arya, nodded, dark eyes wide.

_**o0o**_

"_Vasílissa_!"

Ruana Grande, Queen of the Gypsies of Westeros & the Seven Kingdoms, turned, curls & coils of thick braids bouncing. The jewels and gold woven into the midnight locks glinted & twinkled in the firelight.

"Aye, Seraphos?" she asked of the dark burly man before her.

"A rider approaches," His voice rumbled like thunder with the accent of the Summer Islands. "With a child,"

A dark finely arched brow rose as she demanded, "Beggar or knight?"

Most avoided the treacherous thick of the Trident's forest, especially because of Ruana and her band of Gypsies. Those that did have the courage to forage as deep into the woods as Ruana's camp were usually grand men (and thusly rich & quickly stripped of their assets) who didn't heed the warnings of lowly smallfolk & their fearsome tales or those too poor & miserable to care if they were accosted. But none ventured in with children.

Seraphos shrugged.

"Can't tell. Too poor to be a knight, too rich to be a beggar. He's got a destier that's a right beauty, _Vasílissa_, he would suit you well,"

At this, Ruana's eyes twinkled & her red lips quirked up into a smile and she rose from her place at the fireside to greet their new visitors.

"Well, we best not keep this beggar knight waiting, no?"

_**o0o**_

"Greetings, Ser. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

They seemed to have come out of nowhere. He had not seen them surround them & he certainly hadn't seen them approach. And the torches that blazed made him feel as though they were conjured by magic. But the voice that spoke to him came from a woman, not any of the men that watched him with wary suspicion.

She was slight at maybe five and a half feet, with black hair that dripped to her waist with curls & braids that glinted with stolen jewels and coin. She wore silk of sheer red & gold that kept her ample breasts and shapely legs covered, but still exposed her sides & back, and clung to her curves invitingly. He could tell by the firelight that she was pale, and that her lips were a dark succulent red, but he could not see her eyes.

"I -and my son- have need of shelter for the night." Sandor rasped, keeping his face as covered as possible in the torchlight. It never hurt to be wary of one's surroundings or more importantly, who could recognize him. "We hope that your lord may be so kind as to grant it to us,"

Ruana stiffened at the sound of the voice that came from under the hood. It was familiar, from a place that was a lifetime away from her, & for some reason, she was set ill at ease.

"There is no lord here," she snapped. "I am Lord in these parts, so to speak. And all depends upon who you are, & your son as well," she took a step closer to the man & his great black horse. There was something familiar about the beast as well, something she couldn't place. "If you would be so kind as to remove your hood and tell us your names, we may be able to break bread with you,"

"I am -Theo of Glenn & my son is called Rex," Sandor answered curtly. He didn't like the idea of a woman being a ruler, & if his experience with Queen Cersei taught him anything, it was women didn't typically fare well where power was concerned. But he was hungry & he knew the girl was too. And if he was being honest, he certainly needed a drink, so he gladly lied to the bitch.

The woman bowed her head.

"Good to meet you, Theo of Glenn & boy called Rex," she observed, and then smiled prettily, taunting him. "And now your hoods,"

Sandor took note of the pointed swords & aimed arrows. He knew from experience with Gypsies & Wildlings alike that they cared not at all about murdering two -or at least one- innocent. And so, with obvious disgruntlement, he pulled back his hood, while Arya pulled off her own.

_**o0o**_

The gasps of her gypsies was a dull roar in her ears as rage pounded in them. Her eyes flashed when his hood was fully off his half mangled face. And though she hadn't been able to place his voice, she could certainly place his face. She would never forget the face of the man who jilted her. And perhaps it were best that the Hound hadn't recognized her yet, either.

"It seems we've caught ourselves a lost dog!" she exclaimed, looking at her men with false, contemptuous humor. "I wonder what business the inbred king has sent his royal hound on? Perhaps you're hunting for his lordships bunnies. I hear the little mongrel can barely kill one of those on his own."

The Gypsies around her laughed while she smirked. There was no love for Joffery, his mother, & especially not his dog in Ruana's camp.

"You have me mistaken, I fear," she heard the Hound grind out from behind her.

There was no humor, false or no, in Ruana's eyes when she rounded on the man now.

"I am _never_ mistaken, Hound. The burns on your face mark you clearly for who you are and I know you to fear nothing, except of course fire." she snarled. She nodded at her men and before the Hound could react, they took the girl -as she was clearly not the boy Sandor Clegan had claimed her as- his weaponry, & had him shackled. She cast the girl a long look before she nodded at her women. "Get the girl fresh clothes & water to bathe in. See that she eats something hot & put her in my tent to sleep."

Ruana looked once more at the Hound as her men pulled him from his horse and gave the seething man a malicious smile.

"Tie the dog to a tree, and if he barks or growls, give him a little taste of fire."

She had the joy off watching his eyes widen in fear before she stalked away from him & into the woods to clear her head.

**_o0o_**

When Ruana returned to camp half an hour later to check on her 'hostage' -so to speak-, she found the girl sitting in front of her fire, ravenously eating and clean. It did her well to wear a dress, it marked her for the girl she was, despite her choppy, uneven haircut. She was not altogether unpleasant to look upon, either, once the grime & mud & smell of horses had been washed from her.

"How did you come to be with the Hound, girl?" Ruana demanded of the dark haired child.

The little one looked up, eyes wide, mouth full of the first real thing she'd eaten in probably months.

"Kidnapped me," she managed between mouthfuls of venison.

Ruana inclined her head. "Sounds of him," she observed. "And from what great family is your father? Merrick? Merrimack? Barathean? Tarly? Greyjoy? Frey? Tully? Stark? Certainly you are no Lannister,"

Arya stared blank faced, determined not to show any sign of recognition at the sound of her family names'. She was uncertain of what to tell the pretty woman before her. That she had insulted the Lannister King before meant little. The alligence of gypsies sat only with those who held the coin whether they liked the person or no, & anyone of her family's enemies could be paying this strange woman & her people.

"Has to be one of them," Ruana continued. "The Hound wouldn't take you unless he was sure he could ransom you. I imagine even Joffery's coffers are running low in these war driven times," she smiled kindly on the girl. "So, which of them is it?"

Arya threw down the deer leg she'd eaten partially & glared at Ruana. Her stubborn side was kicking in, & she would be damned if this woman would also make money from her.

"Why? So you and your dirty gypsies can ransom me?" she spat resentfully, curling her arms around her tucked knees.

Ruana laughed heartily at that, her head tipping backwards in her mirth, raven hair streaming behind her.

"Gods no! I've coin enough without bartering with some old lord & his lady over what's probably their seventh stickish little daughter," she trained her eyes on the girl, willing just as much to throw out barbs as the girl if she was unwilling to behave nicely. "Doubt I would get much for a little mite like you anyway,"

Arya scowled.

"Then I see little reason to tell you my family,"

Ruana shrugged, throwing delicate pale hands up in nonchalance.

"Then I'll speak with your captor. The Hound will bark for coin & his freedom," _Though I've no intention of giving him either._

She left the girl with her scowl still in place & strode out into the campsite. Most of her people had resumed where they'd left off: drinking, singing, dancing, sleeping & even fucking in the firelight. She didn't care. They were a free people, could do as they pleased when they pleased. That they called her queen was little more then a sign of respect & unwavering loyalty. She kept them safe & kept them rich in food, clothing, shelter, coin, & horses. She'd fought beside these men & nursed their sick & helped birth their young. They loved her & she them.

Clegane sat, miserably so, tied to a tree, though he gave an occasional bark of twisted laughter when one of Ruana's men was met with a swift kick from the large black horse he rode. The horse was ferocious, snuffling and pawing at the ground, bucking and neighing. It was doing it's best to bite the men as they approached & tried to grab his reins, but her men were swift enough to evade that gruesome fate.

But she knew that horse, had been given her first ride by Clegane (no matter how begrudging he had been to oblige her) on that horse. She had even stolen Stranger once or twice from the House Clegane stables & ridden him on hunts. To her knowledge, she was the only other person besides the Hound who could approach it on her own without fear of ending up like one of her men in the mud, groaning and clutching their stomach & faces or missing fingers.

She turned her face back to the Hound, who was glaring at her ferociously from the tree.

She winked at him as she approached the beast, and her men watched her with fear for her in their eyes.

"_Vasílissa, _I beg you stay away from that beast. It is a demon," Seraphos said to her, attempting to pull her back. "I do not think he will be like the other animals. This one has a bad spirit, like his master,"

Ruana shrugged the man off and continued to the horse. Her men stepped aside as she approached, willing her with their eyes to stay away from it.

"You get any closer & he'll kick you right in that pretty face of yours," the Hound snarled from the tree.

"Silence, dog!" she snapped without turning her back on the animal.

Tentatively she came up beside the horse, who seemed to somehow be quieting with every step she took. When she reached the beasts flank, she slid a hand down the silky animal, while her men sucked in fearful breaths through tight lungs. The horse turned his head to her, nickering softly, and gently she stroked his velvet black snout, whispering in his ears.

"Bloody bitch," she heard the Hound snap.

With a defiant look at him, Ruana grabbed a hank of the horse's mane and pulled herself up. She heard the Hound growl another curse as she settled herself in the saddle, and with a fierce glee she walked the horse around before his master, a gloating smile on her face.

"What was that you had been saying about my pretty face, Hound?" she taunted him.

"Fuck you," Sandor spat at her, but it only made her giggle. She slid from the horses back and with its reins in hand, walked until she was a foot from the hulking man in his bindings, and sat before him.

"Must be frustrating to see your beastie listen to another, huh Clegane?" she asked of him.

The man said nothing, glaring instead at the treacherous beast in question.

Ruana shrugged. "Fine, if you'd rather not speak of the horse, that is perfectly acceptable to me," she snapped. "But, we _will_ speak of the girl you've kidnapped."

"Piss off, gypsy bitch."

"Temper, temper," Ruana tsked, and a moment later she flew at him and her fist made contact with his jaw. She had the pleasure of knowing his mouth was bleeding, and she smiled. "Now. Who is the girls sire? She is obviously highborn, where does she belong?"

The Hound answer was to spit in her face. His blood splattered on her cheek, along with his spit & she snapped.

In an instant, she had her dagger from her thigh & pressed it to the laughing mans throat.

"You are the lowest of all the scum to crawl out of Kings Landing, second only to your brother," she pressed the knife into his throat & drew blood, and the Hound stopped laughing. Her face was inches from his, violet eyes burning into his steal grey. He could see in her eyes that she would gladly end him right where he sat. "I would see your entrails ripped out, but first you will tell me what kin I can put her with,"

For a minute, the Hound merely stared back into her furious eyes, ever aware of the shiny sharp blade that bit deeper & deeper into his flesh. And then his lips twitched into a twisted smile.

"I know you," he rasped. How could he ever forget those oddly colored eyes? "You're the Chenna girl. The one I left." His barking laugh seemed to shake the tree. "Still sore, muffin?"

"Sore? That I didn't wed you? That I could have been Lady Clegane, wife of the Hound of the Inbred King, sister to the Mountain, who rapes and kills women & children alike?" Ruana snarled with disdain dripping from every syllable. "I much prefer the title I have. Has less of a stain on it,"

She pushed away from him, disgusted in his very presence & snapped out words to her men in Valerian before snatching up Stranger's reins and disappearing into the Gypsy camp beyond.

_**o0o**_

The Chenna girl had changed, very much so from the last time Sandor had seen her nearly twelve years prior. She had been twelve then, and scrawny and flat with lips that seemed to big and those doe like purple eyes staring at him. Always staring at him. She was a lovesick puppy for him then, though he couldn't see why then nor now. Ugly as she was, why would she want him & his mangled face & surly countenance?

He'd never been nice to her, not once in her entire time of knowing him. Wouldn't even have agreed to marry her if Gregor hadn't been so bloody persistent & vicious about it.

_"I don't give a fuck if you don't like the little bitch's face!" Gregor roared, his face inches from his then fourteen year old brothers. The veins in his neck and forehead throbbed in his rage as they always did, but Sandor remained impassive. "Marry the cunt & skin her alive afterwards for all I care, but I'll have that fuckin' dowry from her fuckin' pig father or I'll finish what I fuckin' started with you and that fuckin' fire, boy!"_

But Sandor hadn't married her. The second Gregor had his coin in hand, Sandor had fled. The girl's father had caused quite the fuss about that, had demanded Gregor give him back all 700 gold dragons, and Gregor had answered by slaughtering the entire family. He wasn't sure how the girl had escaped, but it was a right spot of luck if there ever was one.

Maeve she'd been called then. And he understood the reason in the name change, for if Gregor found her he would've surely killed her. Though he knew Gregor would have had even more trouble recognizing her than Sandor had now. If it weren't for those bloody eyes, he'd never have recognized her. Not with those tits and that face. She grew into her lips quiet nicely.

That night Sandor Clegane fell asleep laughing scornfully to himself about the ironies of being ungrateful about an awkward looking bride when he looked as he did.

_Fuck the Gods, and their lessons._


End file.
